Mortal Kombat: Origins
by TheDepressed1
Summary: A dark, gritty rebirth of the Mortal Kombat universe grounded in reality. Inspired by Mortal Kombat Rebirth. Rated M for strong violence, strong language, strong sex and sexual violence and all manner of other horrible things.


1. Ryan

Such a heat was not quite right for an early spring morning. The dew from the leaves had already evaporated in the warmth, giving the air an almost sticky feel. Rocky's nose pushed through the short dry grass, smelling for that invisible trail only dogs seem to care about. He happily dragged his owner left and right through the empty park. "Jesus, Rocky! Slow down, pup!" Mr Sherbourne had always been too small to properly handle the Great Dane, but even after ten years he continued to fight against the brute strength of the fully grown canine.

Almost every day for ten years Mr Sherbourne had taken Rocky down this route. The field was wide and open, trees dotted sporadically along the path that many feet had trod into existence over countless decades. At the end of the park, just before it made way into woodland, stood a grand sycamore, lovingly casting shade on whoever chose to lie underneath. On most days, the play-park that lay close to that magnificent tree was teeming with children, their laughter and cheering carrying heartily through the flat surrounding land. These early mornings sometimes saw one or two exhausted parents with sleepless young children. Today was quiet, however.

Rocky leapt and bounded enthusiastically along the ground. Birds chirping in the air made him run inquisitively in their direction, the flighted creatures easily thwarting his interest. His ears pricked up at the slightest noise from any direction. Mr Sherbourne could scarcely hide his relief when the erratic movement suddenly stopped. He stooped over to catch his breath. "...Rocky boy...you...you got the devil in...ya today...ain't ya?" It took him a few seconds to notice Rocky had stopped dead still, staring towards the looming sycamore with his teeth bared and his hackles raised. "What's wrong, pup? What you seen?" Mr Sherbourne looked in the direction of Rocky's stare, unsure of what could faze the normally easily-excitable dog. He noticed something laying in the pale morning shadow. It was perfectly still, as if frozen in time. It looked... as if steam was rising from it. "What in the hell?" He started slowly towards the figure, but he was held back by Rocky, who was never moving. "Come on boy, come along!" Mr Sherbourne had to drag the dog the course to the tree, Rocky whining all the way. The animal slowed his owner down immensely. The closer Mr Sherbourne got, the stronger a peculiar smell he came upon. He took a while to recognise the sweet dry scent, and recoiled in horror when he realised what it was.

The smell of charred flesh.

He quickly let go of the lead, and Rocky turned and fled in the other direction. Mr Sherbourne charged as fast as his short legs could manage, forgetting his beloved pet, towards the prone figure on the ground. The thought of steam turned into smoke and he felt himself fighting back the contents of his stomach as he approached the shade. As he got closer his steps faltered. He could clearly see what had terrified Rocky, and what was expelling that foul aroma. The sight made him fall to his knees and let his stomach win this battle.

The boy must have been no older than eight.

* * *

The attendant wandered slowly through the cold dark halls, his earphones blocking out the squeaky wheel on the old body cart. The contents of the small black bag on the trolley was none of his concern. He had seen too many fucked-up things to let a tiny body bag mess up his day. The faint sound of his music echoed lightly off the metal floor as he drummed a beat with his fingers against the trolley handle. More often than not he was listening to jazz as he did his rounds – the classics, usually. Coltrane, Ellington. His tapping became wilder and wilder as the busy music filled his ears, the rhythmic sound merging with the screech of the wheel underneath. Suddenly his tapping ceased as he crashed into the closed doors he had not seen. The abrupt stop in momentum caused the body to slide to the side of the cart, and the bag slowly dropped onto the floor with a nauseating splat. The sound of incinerated dead skin separating from it's former owner would have turned the stomachs of most men. Yet the attendant continued his auditory attention, picking up the sealed cadaver and callously throwing it back on the metal frame. Whistling joined in with the drumming as the doors slammed behind him.

He arrived late to the cold room, the coroner washing his hands impatiently at the sink. "Seriously Joe, what took you so long? It's been a damn quiet day, and I don't need you taking fucking ages with the next corpse! Get over here." Joe the attendant didn't hear a word. He was stood mouth agape at the corpse on his trolley. The corpse that had just sat up. The coroner continued on. "Are you even listening? God, these new trolley boys are sh..." He turned round mid-sentence as the bag began to scream.


End file.
